sw1mushfandomcom-20200215-history
RPlog:Fixing a Hole
Amidst the hustle and bustle of the rather busy Ord spaceport, the arrival of a shuttle is a thing not to be noticed by many of the passersby. So it is with this one, at first, though as it touches down and lowers its ramp, the beings that are among the first to exit might be enough to turn some of the less seasoned spacers' heads. Certainly they're being loud enough to attract someone's attention, if that someone was even moderately nosy. "Blast it, Bill!" one of the hulking figures calls out, and as his head somes into view he can be identified to those in the know as a Quarren (the tentacles will give that away), "'Tis a curse worse than death, that what's been put upon us by the Great Seafarer! Surely we can't be destined to wander forever at the mercy o' others, ne'er to be the masters of our joureys! Ah, a pirate wi'out a ship is lower than the meanest landlocked denizen." He pushes back the rather precarious hat that was clearly not meant for such a bulbous and protruding head, rearranging it so that it sits at another equally jaunty angle. Bill remains out of sight for a moment, but appears shortly, pushing himself out from behind a particuarly large Bothan woman who had cut his path off from his companion. "The smell in thar shuttle be worse than the bilgedeck of the most derelict ship in all the sea. Did ye notice how thar were no searats aboard? They already fled! We be lucky to be here alive!" he exclaims, shoving a roaming cargo droid out of his way. "Arrr!" he adds in frustration. "You know," Lynae begins in a quiet and thoughtful tone of voice, "I once weaned a long time spice addict off of his addition. It took some time, and it was touch and go for a while, but it worked. I could suggest a treatment plan that should free her of the problem," she offers aloud, speculation of course. "If she's incarcerated she'll only get hooked worse in, and when she comes back out." Not one to ask nor wonder the topic of conversation before he arrived, Holden remains silent as the two women speak after the jedi has taken his leave, choosing to hold his tongue and his news until addressed. Casting an as always cautious eye around the surroundings, the marine finds nothing out of sorts until his gaze falls upon the two quite loud beings who have just exited the shuttle, not only loud but also speaking in a version of common wholly unknown to the man. Allowing his eyes to stay upon the two for only an extra moment, Deckherd shrugs his shoulders and returns his attention to the women. "I don't want her to end up in jail," Shael agrees, letting out a frustrated breath. "She's a friend's sister. A friend's /stupid/ sister. I'm really just hoping she ends up in a reputable rehab. That's what needs doing, here." If that doesn't happen... Oh well. Hopefully Inanna won't hold it against her. She had tried, after all. "That idiot girl needs a lot of help." "I believe ye be right," the Mon Cal's grizzled companion agrees, beginning to amble across the spaceport with a pronounced limp, his wooden leg thumping quite a bit louder on the durocrete than his natural one. Clearly the captain feels that the noise in the spaceport hinders normal conversation, because he turns his head as he begins to address Bill once more, but perhaps this wasn't the wisest of choices. Just as he begins to speak, he blunders heavily into sylphlike young woman with the dark blonde hair. His bad leg, difficult to maneuver on the best of days, nearly fails him and he stumbles, just managing to catch himself by grabbing ahold of her shoulder. "Pardon an old sea dog, lass!" he soon as he seems to have completely regained his balance, "Ol' Jack didn't see ye there." Bill trots to catch up as he sees his trusty Captain about to fall. "Cap'n!" he shouts, trying to help Salty Jack before he topples to the ground. But just as he arrives, the quarren steadies himself against the young woman. "So sorry, lass," Bill apologizes to the young woman. "Me captain has a bum leg, ye see? We was made to walk the planck many years ago, and a snarshark got him right in the leg before Bill could pull him out!" He makes some attempt to brush Salty Jack off and make sure he is unharmed before nodding to the ladies and giving them a saucy wink. "So in a f- hey!" Shael breaks off suddenly in surprise, struggling to keep to her feet herself at the unexpected encounter. Once the strange quarren has his feet back underneath him, Shael takes a few steps back, eyeing the odd pair in puzzlement. "It's, ah, quite alright," Shael reassures them, even as she tries to figure out what their angle is. Are they just odd, or are they playing at something? Lynae observes the new arrivals with the quiet air of scientist observing a unique and rare specimen that suddenly - and without warning - comes under her inspection. She takes a measured step back out of the way as Jack is dusted off, eyes Shael for a moment then shifts her gaze towards the now identified Bill then, lastly, around to Holden. She arches one eyebrow, then turns back to Jack. "A wooden leg is a rather primitive replacement appendage. If you wanted something along the lines that would further facilitate bipedal movement while allowing for something resembling flexible movement, you may want to consider some alternatives," she states in a dry voice. As the rather loud voices approach, Holden cannot help but return his gaze to the two odd beings, watching silently as the seemingly accidental trip occurs and the aftermath that follows. He waits until everyone in the area has said their piece before the marine in him takes over. "Welcome to Ord Mantell gentlemen, may I please see your identification." he states simply in a humorless tone, cold eyes upon the two as he awaits a response. The old Quarren gives the somewhat unfortunate young woman a rather grandfatherly pat on the shoulder as he says, "Thank ye, me beauty. Me leg, y'see..." but as Bill gives his excelletn explanation, Jack simply nods agreeably, letting out a hearty chuckle, "Aye, that be true," he says, "That creature were a feisty one, t'be sure. But in the end, he were no match for ol' Jack." Lynae's suggestion catches his attention, and he turns his gaze to her, hooked tentacle reaching up to scratch idly at the side of his face. "Per'aps ye be right, but this old girl's been with me fer a spell, and I'd feel a powerful sadness if I gave her up now." He lifts up the leg of his pants, revealing the permanently sodden and rather unattractive peg, giving it a friendly pat. "When she gives out, could be I'll upgrade her a bit." He hadn't paid the man much attention before, but at his question he looks rather affronted, or at least, as affronted as a Quarren can manage to look. "Identification! Don't ye know who we be, matey?" Barnacle Bill considers Lynae's offer carefully and then reaches up, quick as a glimmerfish, and grabs the hook attached to the Captain's leftmost tentacle. "What about this here? Could ye replace it?" Truth be told, the hook is the calamari's biggest fear. Another, perhaps related thought seems to strike him, and he gestures at his eyepatch. "Or this? Could ye give me a laser or musket here? Bill has heard of such things from me mates." His questions are interrupted by the request from Holden, and Bill, too, turns to face the soldier. "Didn't Polly have our flimsicards?" he whispers to Jack. "Are you both completely mad?" Shael asks them a bit warily, sneaking a few side steps closer to Lynae. Going to the Imperial for protection? Clearly Shael has lost her mind as well. "Who in their right mind would willingly deal with a piece of wood for a replacement limb?" Lynae privately agrees with Shael, and makes that obvious with a slight nod to Shael as she glances again towards Holden and then back towards the two gentlemen with the colorful vernacular. "With proper procedures I would say that, within a reasonable measure of error, that the tentacle could be regrown. It would require that the last layer or two of flesh be removed, excised that is, before being regenerated. Some Bacta and proper DNA typing," Lynae goes on at length in technical medical terms before pausing and addressing the other inquiry. "A laser, no, but a replacement ocular orb, yes." Hardly amused by what continues to transpire, the marine takes a short step to put himself between the two beings and the women, his eyes speaking for him that he is still waiting for the identification to be presented. Lynae's suggestion seems to cause Jack even more distress, as his tentacle whips violently, though luckily for Bill, this time it doesn't come near his eye. "Regrow me tentacle?!?" he gasps, taking a step back as though the woman is readying her operating room as they speak, "This hook's saved me a fair few times in a fight!" He brandishes it in the general direction of the woman to illustrate his poin, though the gesture is not particularly threatening, except for the inherent sharp object angle. But her next words give him pause, and he turns to his companion thoughtfully, "Ahoy, Bill, there might be somethin' ter that. Two eyes again, and wouldn't that be grand?" He seems to have forgotten the part he played in Bill's current condition. He makes no mention of the identification, though whether that's accidental or deliberate is anyone's guess. "Aye, you would like that, wouldn't ye? A fresh new eye! The next time ye get a little tipsy, it will give you something new to pluck out, aye?" Or is that eye? "Bill is no fool! Ye won't be getting another shot at me face that easily, me hearty!" As if in retaliation for suggesting he consider regrowing his eye, Bill turns to the soldier. "Our ship was eaten by terrible space creature, may it rot in the nine hells. Our ship and our precious Polly is gone, along with our ID's, mate." Perhaps they are mad, as Shael has suggested. "At least they're not violent..." Shael mutters softly. They don't seem it, at least. Not that she has much desire to get any closer to test the theory. "I bet you didn't have to deal with people like this when you were Commodore. Starting to regret that career change a little?" "From time to time, yes," Lynae murmurs in a quiet aside to Shael. "Although these two would present unique and intriguing case studies," she remarks, her eyes again shifting to Bill and Jack, a distinctive gleam entering her eyes. "In fact, the potential data garnered would be worth offsetting the expense of the procedures necessary to make the repairs. " Having worked quite a few days of port duty himself, Holden does not seemed fazed by the strange excuse he is presented, although one would assume he has not heard it before. "I apologize for the loss gentlemen." the sergeant states plainly, "However, your identification will need to be verified before you are allowed out of port. If you proceed into that building right there, they will be able to help you." he says as he points towards the main security station, stepping to the side slightly to allow them past and display that he considers their business to be complete. "Me leg may be a bit bad, but me ears be fine, lass," Jack says, glancing at Shael, though his tone is softened by a saucy wink, or as saucy as one can expect from one of his kind. He begins to say something else, but the man catches his attention again with his incessant talk about identification. "Arr, this place is goin' ter the dogs. Can they help me," he begins, taking a step toward Holden, "get back me ship from the gullet o' the great space monster what thought it were a snack? Can they help me find me Polly again, who went the same way, surely ne'er ter be seen again?" His voice is thick with emotion now, and his eyes even look unnaturally bright as he continues, "A man who's lost everythin' don't need identification, b'cause he ain't the man he was, and that's fer true, matey. He ain't the man he was." He ends this rather passionate outbust with a quite audible sniff, running a (unhooked) tentacle under his eye to catch a solitary tear that threatens to fall. Salty Jack's impassioned speech is almost too much for Barnacle Bill to bear. He lifts his eyepatch and wipes a tear away from whatever hides beneath. The last week had been so horrible: stranded on Tatooine only to find that their precious parrot had disappeared with their lovely ship - home, and then the indignity of the shuttle ride, and now this! It was enough to drive a pirate to grog. "Be thar a tavern nearby?" he turns to the women and asks forlornly. "One t'where we don't have to pass through the procedures?" he adds, to Holden. "It's not your ears I'm worried about," Shael answers Jack in a dry tone. "It's your brain. I think it might be a bit scrambled. Maybe Polly's not the only thing that's gone missing." It has to be some sort of elaborate hoax, right? Or actual insanity. "How does one go about diagnosing insanity? I've never read very much about that." "Well now," Lynae replies to Shael, eyes brightening again, "there are a series of standardized tests that are used. Mainly to outline the usual characteristics, outline markers more or less. There's many types of insanity, mind you. It's not all about being simply off of ones rocker, but there's varying degrees of disassociative disorders ranging from very mild sort of delusions that are harmless and ranging to the extreme of violent disassocite disorders where the subject is violently aggressive and a threat to themselves and others. In between are many levels of disorders that can be treated or merely dealt with without the necessity of medication or therapy. But it does take a trained diagnostician to discern the difference." Holden stands stonefaced off to the side, silently wondering to himself why the ladies are engaging the two strangers so when he has already given them the directions to take them out of their hair. "It's a painless process I assure you gentlemen, however this is not Tatooine and we prefer to know just who is on our planet and to what reason." he replies simply, not needing a test to assume the desert sun drove these two fairly aquatic creatures to their current mental states. Momentary emotion all but forgotten, the Quarren turns back to Shael, giving her an appraising look for a moment before he sighs, saying, "Aye, mayhap ye be right. 'Tis bein' away from the sea that'll do it ter ye. Bill, here, he c'n take more'n his share o' sunlight and heat, but the sea's like a drug to an old squid like me, and I'll not be meself 'til I'm back ter sailin' on her again." Lynae's words bring another chuckle bubbling up, and he shakes his head, "The only treatment that'll cure us is ter get us back there, lass. There's no other cure for what ails us an' it's no use ter try, either." "Arrrr," Bill agrees quietly, taking his bandana off his lumpy head and wiping his brow with it. "The sea be our homes. This place be for landlubbers." He looks towards the building that Holden has indicated. "If that be where I must go to get a good drink of ale, thar be my headin'," he says sadly, defeated. Space was nearly a harsher mistress than the sea. Surely a more horrible place. Slowly, the calamari turns to trudge towards the customs building, pausing to see if Jack follows. "It is entirely possible..." Shael says softly, "That those are the two most singularly odd people I have ever met. And considering how many planets I've already visited, I think that really speaks to something." She watches Bill retreat with a hint of relief. Part of her had still been fully expecting one of both of them to 'flip out' and do something horrible. Chuckling softly, Lynae runs one hand through her hair as she glances first at Shael, then Holden and back towards Bill and Jack. "Oh I don't know, I've met some singularly unique individuals in my time, but I believe they're going to the top of the list of individuals that I will remember the names and faces of - without needing the memory prompt." Holden's eyes watch as one of the beings turns to leave, silently hoping that the one who considers himself to be the 'captain' follows suit. "Please do enjoy your time on Ord Mantell." he states in a hardly cordial tone. With a last, somewhat wistful sigh, Jack sketches a bow that, though slightly awkward, still has a somewhat rakish air about it. "Sorry again, lass, fer nearly knockin' ye over." He tips his hat to each of the ladies in turn, "Per'aps we'll be meetin' afore we set sail again. And thank ye, sir," he says to the somewhat unyielding man, his eyes twinkling with inward mirth. With that, Jack begins to thump off after Bill, tilting his hat down against a slight breeze that is beginning to blow from the direction that the two companions are walking. "Let's find ye that drink, Bill," he says, patting him lightly on the back, "I think I'd like one fer meself, as well."